Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora. Reid Mayne
or if he is by any chance detained upon his route, his story is likely to be that of hundreds who have perished of thirst upon these plains, between a heaven and an earth that are equally unpitying.
“Is it true, then, Don Estevan,” inquired the Senator, as he wiped the perspiration from his brow, “that you have been through this country before?”
“Certainly,” replied Don Estevan; “and it is just because I have been here before that I am here now. But what brought me here formerly, and why I now return, is a secret I shall tell you presently. Let me say that it is a secret sufficient to turn a man’s brain, provided he is not one with a bold, firm heart. Are you that man, señor Senator?” added the Spaniard, fixing his eyes upon his companion, with a calm regard.
The Senator made no reply, farther than by giving a slight shiver that was perceptible through his frame, and which denoted that he felt some apprehension as to the rôle he might be called upon to play.
The Spaniard did not fail to observe his uneasiness, as he resumed:
“Meanwhile, señor, let me ask you, are you decided to follow my advice, and restore your fortunes by some rich matrimonial alliance which I shall arrange for you?”
“Without doubt I am,” replied the Senator, “though I can’t see what interest that can be to you, Señor Don Estevan.”
“That is my affair and my secret. I am not one of those who sell the skin of the bear before the animal is caught. It is enough for you to know, Don Vicente Tragaduros y Despilfarro, that I have a hundred thousand dollars at your disposal the moment you say the word – it only remains for you to hear my conditions, and subscribe to them.”
“I don’t say no,” replied the Senator, “but I candidly avow that for the life of me I cannot think of any one possessing such an inheritance as you mention – not one in the whole province.”
“Do you know the daughter of the rich landowner Augusta Peña – at whose hacienda, please God, we shall sleep to-morrow night?”
“Oh!” exclaimed the Senator, “the proprietor of the Hacienda del Venado? I have heard of her —her dowry should be a million if report speaks true; but what folly it would be for me to pretend – ”
“Bah!” interrupted the Spaniard. “It is a fortress that well besieged may capitulate like any other.”
“It is said that the daughter of Peña is pretty.”
“Beautiful.”
“You know her, then?” said the Senator, regarding his companion with an astonished look. “Perhaps,” he added, “it is to the hacienda of Venado that you make those periodical and mysterious journeys, so much talked about at Arispe?”
“Precisely so.”
“Ah! I understand you,” said the Senator, turning a sly look upon his companion, “it was the beautiful eyes of the daughter that attracted you, the – ?”
“You are mistaken. It was the father, who was simply the banker from whom, from time to time, I drew the funds necessary for my expenses at Arispe.”
“Is that also the object of our present journey?”
“Partly,” replied the Spaniard, “but not altogether – there is another object, which I will communicate to you hereafter.”
“Well, señor,” answered the Senator, “you are a mystery to me from head to foot; but I abandon myself blindly to your guidance.”
“You do well,” said Don Estevan, “and in all likelihood your sun, for a while eclipsed, will shine out again with more than its former splendour.”
Chapter Eleven
An Unfortunate Traveller
It was now near sunset; the travellers were still about two leagues from La Poza, and the desert plains were nearly passed. Some mezquite trees appeared in front thinly covering the calcareous soil, but the twilight sun began to render less visible the objects here and there scattered over the plain.
All at once the horse of Don Estevan came to a stand, and showed signs of affright. The steed of the Senator acted in a similar fashion, though neither of the two horsemen could perceive the cause of this strange behaviour.
“It is the body of some dead mule?” suggested the Mexican.
Don Estevan spurred his horse forward, despite the repugnance of the animal to advance; and a few paces further on, behind a clump of wild aloe plants, he perceived the body of a horse stretched out upon the sand. Such a sight in these dry plains is by no means uncommon; and the travellers would not have given a moment’s thought to it, but for the fact that the horse in question appeared to be saddled and bridled. This circumstance indicated some extraordinary occurrence.
Cuchillo had meanwhile ridden forward to the spot.
“Ah!” said he, after glancing a moment at the dead horse, “the poor devil who has ridden him has met with a double accident: he has not only lost his horse, but also his water-bottle. See!”
The guide pointed to an object lying upon the ground by the shoulder of the fallen horse, and still attached by a strap to the saddle. It was a leathern water-bottle apparently broken and empty. In fact, its position proved that the horse, enfeebled by the heat and thirst, had fallen suddenly to the earth, and the bottle, hardened by the sun, and coming in contact with the animal’s shoulder, had got crushed either by the fall, or in the struggle that succeeded it. A large fracture was visible in the side of the vessel, through which the water had escaped to the very last drop.
“We are likely enough by and by to stumble upon his owner:” suggested Cuchillo, while he examined the trappings of the dead horse, to see if there might be anything worth picking up. “Por Dios!” he continued, “this reminds me that I have the very devil’s thirst myself,” and as he said this, he raised his own bottle to his head, and swallowed some gulps from it.
The tracks of a man upon the sandy surface, indicated that the traveller had continued his route on foot; but the footmarks showed also, that he must have tottered rather than walked. They were unequally distant from each other, and wanted that distinctness of shape, that would have been exhibited by the footsteps of a man standing properly on his legs.
These points did not escape the keen eyes of Cuchillo, who was one of those individuals who could read such dumb signs with an unfailing certainty.
“Beyond a doubt,” said he, taking another gulp from his bottle, “the traveller cannot be far off.”
His conjecture proved correct. A few moments after, the body of a man was seen by the side of the path, lying upon the ground, and perfectly motionless. As if this individual had intended that his countenance should be hidden from the eyes of any one passing, a broad palm-leaf hat covered the whole of his face.
The costume of this traveller in distress, betrayed a certain degree of poverty. Besides the hat already mentioned, which appeared old and battered, a rusty-coloured Indian shirt, somewhat torn, and a pair of pantaloons of nankeen, with common filigree buttons, appeared to be his only garments. At least they were all that could be noticed in the obscure twilight.
“Benito,” said Don Estevan, calling to one of his servants, “knock off with the butt of your lance the hat that covers this man’s face – perhaps he is only asleep?”
Benito obeyed the order, and tossed aside the hat without dismounting; but the man stretched on the ground did not appear to know what had been done – at least he made not the slightest movement.
When the hat was removed, however, the darkness, which had suddenly increased, rendered it impossible to distinguish his features.
“Although it is not exactly your speciality, Señor Cuchillo,” said Don Estevan, addressing himself to the outlaw, “if you will do an act of humanity in trying to save the life of this poor devil, you shall have half an ounce of gold if you succeed.”
“Cospita! Señor Don Estevan,” cried Cuchillo, “you surely mistake my character. I am the most